


Chasing After Winds

by MrsCaulfield



Series: Solomon [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: College AU, Oneshot, They're both nerds, mondo's a nerd, this is a serious fic i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1614020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your life is a song, your weeks spurning out a rhythm that loops in, out, fades away, and comes back in and it’s not that bad. Just boring. That is, until he comes in your life and halts that song to a stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing After Winds

**Author's Note:**

> This basically stemmed from an idea of mine about manic-pixie-dream-boy Ishimaru, so expect that he'll be acting really differently here.

_Ecclesiastes 2:10-11 “…My heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor. Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.”_

 

_-_

 

You are standing in a haunted house.

The hardwood floor, the pastel-coloured walls with the paint already chipped away and fading, the layer of dust that settles on every surface available.

You breathe it in because it’s familiar.

There’s a bell above the front door. It’s rusty and made an unpleasant screech when you stepped in, but it’s the closest thing you have to a home.

And it’s a haunted room.

Haunted by memories, ghosts of everything you’ve ever known and everything you’ve ever loved. You see your mother setting up azaleas by the frost-stained window. You see your father grabbing his coat from a hanger across the room. You see your brother laughing heartily at some generic reality TV show in the corner. People come and go, but these three were always the ones with you. They promised to never leave you.

And yet here you are.

There was a time when this place was lit up well and a pleasing aroma filled the air. A time when you had seen many people walk in through the front door with smiles on their faces, and you always smiled back. You always smiled back then. They’d browse through the selection of flowers in the room then make their way to the cashier, where your mother would be greeting them with yet another smile as she rung up their orders. How drastically things have changed since then. 

You sigh as you walk on towards the front door, already having had enough of the dreary place. Ghosts are better off left behind. And if they try to chase after you, it is easy to mask their trail with the constancies of daily life.

Just live. Breathe. Eat. Study. Ride your bike. Ride it fast. Yell a lot. You’ve always been this way. It’s how you got here. It will be over… well, someday. You don’t know when. Of course, no one can be certain when their lives will end. Such is the way of life, subject to individual persons under individual circumstances. And until that sweet merciful day comes and whisks you away from this god damn awful world, you’re on your own and you better damn well make the most of it.

You love the night because everything looks more faded and everything easier to ignore. You grew up in this town, which is why it is a relief to see that old warehouse where you use to meet up with your gang become just another blurry blob in the dark. In fact, the bokeh makes for a rather cinematic feel. Good, you think. That shit deserves some renovation.

If you could show up with a wrecking ball and watch all of it crumble down you’d be the happiest in the world.

Your life is a song, your weeks spurning out a rhythm that loops in, out, fades away, and comes back in and it’s not that bad. Just boring.

You keep walking until you come up at an intersection and have to wait for the red light to go green before you cross the road. The streets are mostly deserted, and you don’t normally concern yourself with following traffic signs, but the air tonight is so blissfully cool that you are glad to have an excuse to stay out for just a little bit longer.

Before you even cross the road you can already see what comes up ahead. A stone bridge that connects this piece of land to another over a great body of water, as how all bridges function. You pass by that bridge every day, sometimes twice a day. There is nothing remarkable about that bridge. Until now.

After what feels like an eternity, the light goes green and you are free to cross the road and onto that bridge. There are no cars, just one person—a man, it seems—looking over the edge, lost into a fantasy of his own making.

 

-

 

You first meet him on that bridge at that night, when the skies are a deep cloudy blue and the rushing river underneath is a murky black and his eyes are redder than the hot core of a dying sun. And it’s not because he’s crying or anything. Red as in, his very pupils are the color of rubies. Or blood. It’s fucking weird.

He gives you a bright smile as you approach. He’s absolutely radiant with light.

“Hello, stranger!” He offers you a hand. “What brings you out here on this particular night?”

You are hesitant to reply and you briefly contemplate ignoring him and continuing your walk back to your dorm room but decide against it. “Skies looked extra shitty today. Thought I’d go out and take a look.”

“Ahh,” he says, still smiling. His long arms pile on the railing of the bridge and he rests his chin on them. “I like this bridge. That’s why _I’m_ out.”

“This bridge is terrible,” you remark. “It’s a poor excuse of an infrastructure. Thought someone as classy as you would have better taste.” You say this because he is wearing an exquisite white uniform of some sort. Clean and unwrinkled. You’d have thought he was a professional if you didn’t spot him looking at a river with swirls in his eyes.

He chuckles. “I’m Kiyotaka, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Mondo.”

“Hi, Mondo. What do you think of the book of Ecclesiastes?” 

You rack your brain for a stroke of familiarity. That’s something from the Bible, right? You take a step away from him, fearing he might be one of those _Hi! Could you spare a few seconds to talk about the Lord Jesus Christ?_ people. They’re pretty fucking terrifying.

“Do I look like the religious type to ya?”

To your surprise, he laughs. “Not at all. Just a fair warning. If we’re going to be friends, you’re gonna be hearing a lot from the book of Ecclesiastes.”

You frown. “Who said I wanted to be friends with a freak like you?”

His smile falters and he looks away. You regret the words that you said and wish you could take them back.

“Tell me about yourself, Mondo,” he says cheerily, but you get the sense that his cheerfulness is a facade. You play along with it since you barely know him anyway.

“I’m a fucked up college student,” you reply promptly, not stirred by the idea of sharing sob stories with a crazy stranger you met on a bridge. 

“Me too. What’s your major?”

“Psychology.”

“Weird.”

“Tell me about it.” You’ve gotten many replies like that before. Not a lot of people pictured you studying psychology. Not a lot of people pictured you studying, period. You weren’t exactly the studious type back in high school. Being the leader of a huge biker gang kinda disarranged your priorities a bit. But you did get grades good enough to catapult you into a decent university. It was the only way to get your parents off your back, after all. It worked. They’re gone now.

The stranger, Kiyotaka, speaks again. “I’m a political science major.”

“Yeah? That’s kinda cool.” You decide to stay, since you aren’t in a hurry to get back anyway. You lean on the railings beside him, mimicking his pose, and push your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“I’m gonna be the prime minister someday.”

“You talk too much.”

He scoffs. “You should’ve seen me back when I was in high school.”

“Must’ve been dreadful.”

“I was the hall monitor,” he says fondly. “I yelled a lot.”

“I can imagine.”

“Words and dreams, that’s how everyone described me back then. Would you say the same of me right now, Mondo?”

You have no idea why he’s asking someone he met ten minutes ago this question, but you nod anyway. “Words and dreams kinda describes you perfectly. And that’s considering I just met ya.”

“Yes, and it’s terrible.”

“How is that terrible?”

“Much dreaming and many words are meaningless. Ecclesiastes five verse seven.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said you were gonna quote that stupid book.”

“It’s quite good. You should read it some time.”

“Think I’ll pass, thanks.”

A car speeds by behind you, its headlights jolting you out of your dreamlike daze. Kiyotaka stands a few feet from you, seemingly unbothered. 

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says. “It’s obvious you’re not into all that Bible stuff. I’m just saying if you want to know me, just read the book of Ecclesiastes. That’s me in a nutshell.”

“How is that even possible?”

He shrugs and a distant look appears in his eyes. “I’ll pay a thousand yen to the person who can answer that. All I know is, I tried reading it one day and found that it described me perfectly. I memorized it to serve as a daily reminder of who I am, because sometimes even _I_ forget.”

“Wait, you mean you memorized a whole book?”

“It’s not that unheard of, you know. Tons of people do it.”

“Yeah, but… A whole book?” You cringe at the thought. “You must be a fucking genius, then.”

He flinches and his jaw hardens. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Okay. This guy is starting to confuse you now.

He grips the railing until his knuckles turn white and you’re afraid you angered him even if you don’t know how you did it. He releases his tight grip and sighs. “So what if I _am_ a genius?” His voice is a lot lower. Lifeless. “It means nothing.”

“What do ya mean it’s nothing? That’s amazing! Knowing tons of stuff makes life a lot easier.”

“It does quite the opposite, I assure you.”

“Explain how.”

“For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief. That’s why.”

“Are you even still quoting the Bible or are you just making shit up?”

He lets out a small smile. “And what about you? Why psychology?”

To be honest, you have no idea why you chose it. It was just the type of major that was chosen by all people who had no idea what to major in, so you release your automatic response for these types of questions: “It’s practical.”

“I have always been interested in psychology!” He is excited again. You wonder what he must’ve been like as a kid, bouncing off the walls with energy and stuff like that. You imagine he was quite the handful. “What can you tell me of the adaptive unconscious?”

You rack your brains as you try to remember all the psychology lectures you attended. “Adaptive unconscious is like, when there’s this ancient painting, and before putting it up in a museum, some experts have to come verify its authenticity. So they do. They do carbon dating and a ton of data analysis and conclude, ‘All clear. It’s the real thing. Hang it up!’ and then suddenly this one guy comes along and looks at the painting for two seconds and says, ‘Well, this is a load of horse shit’.”

“So the painting’s a fake, then?”

“Yes, obviously the painting is a fake. The adaptive unconscious talks about what was about that one man who was able to figure that out in just two seconds what it took experts several months to conclude and get wrong.”

He trails a finger along the railing back and forth and keeps his gaze on the river. “It attempts to explain what the human mind is capable of doing in two seconds. Think, Mondo! Here lies the secrets to how a cop barely misses a bullet fired from a criminal. The life of a patient in the hands of a surgeon. All actions that come down to a matter of two seconds. Stuff that actually _matters_. Now that is amazing.”

“Eh, it’s alright.” The concept to him seems like a work of art, the solution to all of mankind’s predicaments, but you disagree. After all, it was those two seconds that took away your brother’s life.

“I never think of anything that matters,” he says, thoughtful. “Why do I not think of anything that matters?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” This time, you smile. Kiyotaka seems like a pretty okay guy. You don’t mind having a chat with him again.

 

-

 

You do get to talk to him again. Quite a lot, actually. Kiyotaka is smart, funny, and completely unpredictable and he makes for the best companion. He disrupts the song of your life, makes you miss a beat or two, but you can afford to be out of rhythm as long as you are with him.

You genuinely enjoy your times together. It turns out that you go to the same university and your dorms are only a few buildings apart. The two of you grew up in this town, only went to different high schools. You have no idea why you’ve never run into him before when you were never really that far apart. It makes you think of all the things you’ve done, and if you’ve done any of them in a slightly different way would you have met him sooner? If so, what would change?

“I do wish you’d clean up your room better, Mondo,” Kiyotaka says as you two enter your room for another study session. Or at least, what he still insists is a study session. For you it’s just order pizza and watch game shows on television with a raven-haired boy ravishing a textbook on your floor session. You still don’t do much studying, but you manage to get by your classes. Kiyotaka, on the other hand, is absolutely obsessed with it. You think it’s weird, but you still like having someone over. It’s kinda like having a dog again.

Oh god, Kiyotaka would kill you if he knew you just compared him to your deceased maltese puppy.

You settle down on your couch and he takes his usual position on the floor in front of you. His head blocks your view of the television when he moves, but you don’t mind. There is no pizza tonight. As much as you’ve been taught to be hospitable towards your guests, you are still a cash-strapped college student after all.

He has a habit of chewing on his pens. It’s weird. _He’s_ weird. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met before and he brings you a feeling that is almost like relief even though you aren’t sure why that is.

“Mondo,” he says, looking up from the textbook he’d been reading, “Can I use your bathroom?”

“You didn’t have to ask.”

“I just needed to make sure.”

“Just through that door,” you say, jerking a thumb toward its general direction.

“Thank you.”

He skits away and you retrain your eyes onto another generic reality TV show. You never did understand what was so appealing about them. It’s not like you learn anything and they aren’t even funny. Come to think of it, much of what people invest their time in is meaningless. Everything is meaningless.

And wow, you’ve been spending _way_ too much time around Kiyotaka to be thinking that.

“Is this you?” you hear him say, and your head quips back to see him pondering some pictures on the wall. You hung them up on your first day of college without thinking much of them. Pictures of you with your brother. Pictures of you with your high school friend Chihiro. Stuff like that.

You stand next to him. He points a hand to the one of you with your brother, taken a few years back and you had matching jackets and matching smiles. “Yeah, that’s me.” You point at the other man in the picture. “And that’s my brother.”

Kiyotaka bursts out laughing.

You think it’s rude, but then you remember that you haven’t told him that your brother was dead, so you excuse it. “What’s so funny?”

“I-it’s your hair! A-haha!” He clutches his stomach and you grab at your mop of blonde hair.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“A pompadour? Seriously?” He tries to hold down his laughs, but he keeps giggling through his speech anyway. “You looked ridiculous.”

“Don’t insult the ‘do! It’s cool,” you tell him, but you’re glad to have gotten rid of that atrocious corn hair too anyway.

He reaches out a hand to ruffle the hair that splayed out on your forehead, its tips falling just above your eyebrows. “I like your hair better now,” he says, smiling.

“Oh shut up,” you reply, backing away. “Don’t you need to do some studying?”

“Yes! Of course, how could I forget?” He resumes his position on the floor. This time, you join him. The TV show was terrible anyway.

You take a seat behind him and lean over his shoulder to peer at his textbook. Your face contorts in disgust. “I can’t believe you find this shit fun.”

“What could be more fun than the act of learning new stuff?”

“Ew,” you say. Your chin brushes his shoulder as you speak. “I don’t understand how a person as fun as you could love studying so much.”

He lowers his head and twiddles his fingers, wrists on top of his stomach. He is suddenly very quiet. “You are the first person to tell me that I am fun.”

You lean back, shocked. “Seriously?”

He nods. “I never had many friends. I’m always in my own world.”

He releases a sad sigh. You bump your head gently with his to grab his attention.

“Does your world have room for one more person?”

His head whirls around, nearly knocking into yours. His smile is so big it could split the heavens.

“Well…?” you prod, wanting to hear an actual answer. “Does it, or do I have to kick you out of my room now?”

“This is something I never thought I’d say…” his fingers stop twiddling, instead they twine with each other and press against his chest. “Welcome to my world, Mondo!”

 

-

 

You like him.

You like him because it’s easy to talk to him. You don’t ask about his personal life and he never asks about yours. You get the feeling he has just about as much emotional baggage as you do, maybe more, but during the times you spend together the present is all that matters. 

You like him because he makes you smile. Quite a lot, actually. More than you’d like to admit. There are just certain things he does that brings a smile to your face. On some very rare days, he can also make you laugh. You don’t know if it’s because you’ve gotten soft or if his felicity is just that infectious. 

He makes your heart skip a beat whenever he walks through your dorm room as if he owns the place, because it really doesn’t matter anymore since he’s always there anyway. He just makes himself feel at home. 

He makes you eat during those times that you forget to. You’ve put on a few pounds since you met him. Of course, he never misses a chance to comment on it, commending himself for a job well done.

Sometimes he even makes you study, if only just to comfort him. His strange complex against geniuses is intense, and you know he wouldn’t like it if he finds out you’re getting by with your classes just fine without having to put in any extra hours for reviewing things you’ve already heard once. So you study with him to make him happy.

He makes you do a lot of things and it’s like he holds the god damn remote control to all your bodily functions and it’s absolutely annoying.

And you would be so angry if you weren’t happy with it yourself.

 

-

 

You find out more about him and he is amazing.

He is the grandson of a former prime minister. He is very passionate about order and rules and politics. You wonder how someone as sporadic and insightful as he could adhere to a defined set of laws and regulations so much, but such are the ways of Kiyotaka Ishimaru and it’s amazing.

In turn, he finds out more about you. You eventually tell him about your family, how your mother used to run a flower shop nearby and how close you and your brother were until he died in a biking accident. You tell him about your life as a gang leader, and the things that led you to decide to leave that life behind. He is an amazing listener.

You learn that the two of you are so different. While you both like to ignore the past, you have always prized the present. Kiyotaka is one who has all his sights set to the future. He has big dreams, and you can hear in his voice the willingness in him to be something bigger than he could dream to be. And you think it is amazing, too and that the world needs him much more than it needs you.

All this you think as you stare at him from across your room and he has his hands on your old Crazy Diamonds jacket. It looks unbelievably huge next to his slim frame. His brows furrow in confusion as he reads the gold inscriptions on the back. He purses his lips and you see that wicked gleam in his eye, the one you’ve come to know is a warning that he’s about to do something ridiculous again.

He flips the long coat around him and slips his arms in the holes. The sleeves are too long, and his hands struggle to come out the other end. He unbuttons his shirt quickly and reveals his bare chest. “Heyya there,” he says gruffly, one hand resting on his waist and the other on the wall next to him. “Want me to take you out on a ride, hot shot?” His lips purse and move around in an effort to look intimidating. 

“Oh god, Kiyotaka. Please. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“What Kiyotaka? Who is this Kiyotaka you speak of?” He says in the same gruff voice that you now realize is probably meant to be an imitation of yours. “I am _Kiyondo!_ And I’m the best biker in town! Now, baby, won’t you take me out for a spin?”

You laugh now and walk towards him, hands grabbing at the high collar that obstructs your view of his entire face. “First off, I do _not_ talk like that.”

His chin crinkles as he pouts. “And here I thought I got you down to a pat…”

“Second, I never used my bike as a way to pick up chicks. And your attempt was horrible, by the way.”

“And there we have it. Confirmation that badass former gang leader Mondo Oowada is gay. Finally!”

You freeze. A brief wave of panic sweeps right through you. “Wait, what?”

“I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to assume!” He shrugs. “But at least now I am.”

“You mean you honestly never noticed?”

“You think I regularly look at well-built godlike men and go ‘Oh wow, homo alert!’?”

“Ah…”

“Mondo,”

“Hm?”

“You’re blushing,”

“I-I’m not! Stop giggling, god damn it!”

“Sorry! It’s cute!” He takes off the coat and proceeds to fold it neatly. “Well! Finals is coming up! Let’s get to working now!”

 

-

 

You first kiss him on one night, when the skies are dark but you couldn’t be sure if it is cloudy or not from your view through the fog-stained window inside your room, but you are sure that his eyes are still redder than the hot core of a dying sun, and this time it’s because he _is_ crying.

You pull back gently and wipe away his tears with your thumb, the rest of your fingers coming to caress his cheek. His ruby red eyes flutter close every time you breathe out, and your lashes brush his lids when he does so, and he breathes out a stuttering breath to your touch and it’s a never ending cycle of action and reaction, of intimacy and joy. And nothing, _nothing_ in your life has ever felt as good as this.

He leans in to close the distance between the two of you again and his lips are so unbearably soft and just when you think you’d have trouble classifying the different sensations brought about by his lips, he parts his mouth against yours and the warmth is enough to turn out the lights in your head.

Just like that, he has you eating out of the palm of his hand.

His hands come up to rest on your chest as you continue to cradle his face, kissing him senseless. 

You remain like that for the next few minutes, breathing each other in. Eventually, your grip slackens and his arms slide down to the floor and your kisses turn lazy and you break apart for air.

“I…” he speaks first, his cheeks tinged with a delicious shade of pink. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

True. You did kind of lunge at him so suddenly. In retrospect, it was a pretty dumb move. But there’s no way you’re regretting it now.

“But, uhh… You’re okay, right?” you ask him, and you know it’s a ridiculous question but you can’t help but wonder still. If he’s actually okay with it or if he was just going with the flow. If that was a one-time thing or a steppingstone for something bigger. You don’t even know if he feels the same about you the way you do to him and you don’t think it’s possible for anyone to love anyone as much as you love him.

He smiles. His lips are dark and swollen as he worries the bottom one between his teeth. “I’m great.” He lets out cute little giggles as he reaches out to take off your glasses and set them down on the floor beside you. You narrow your eyes as the world becomes a blur and his face comes closer and is the only thing you can see very clearly and it is the only thing that matters at the moment.

“Usually, I think your glasses are adorable,” he says, smiling. “But right now, they’re really more of an aberration than anything else.”

The way you see it, people can be likened to stars. Each person on earth was born with their own purpose, their own glow. Some are meant to glow longer than others. And by some cruel joke of destiny, you’re one of the few who were made to glow for a while, only to implode and turn into an impending doom of black hole surging through a mass of dark matter later on. But he, he’s different. The man whose ruby red eyes shone brighter than all the stars in the sky combined was meant to give off light because the world needed him to. And if it turns out that the sole purpose of your glow was to make sure that that star never goes out then you will gladly do so until your last dying breath.

You lean close again and his eyes flutter shut as if in automatic response to your proximity. You take his hand and twine your fingers with his. You want to keep looking at him, to memorize every feature of his from this close but he is impatient and presses his lips to yours before you could do much else.

He makes the kiss chaste and sweet and pulls back slowly, a distinct sound erupting from your parted lips. He looks at you with half-hooded, beautiful eyes as he whispers through the dark of the room.

“ _Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires_.”

 

-

 

As you continue to spend more time together, you find that you are only happy when you are with him.

And it’s pathetic and shows how absolutely weak you are to be so dependent on him, but it is the truth and you find no pleasure in denying it. You don’t have anything to work with when he’s not around and it’s as if someone had turned off the lights all of a sudden and you grope around in the blackness relentlessly, hoping to find the light switch.

He still spends time in your room. A lot. Especially as of late and you like to think that it’s because he misses you, but lately it seems to be something else entirely.

“Kiyotaka,” you say as he finishes organizing his stuff on your study desk. Since you never found use for the old thing, he’d taken the liberty of occupying it himself. He turns to you, his back leaning on the wooden desk. “Yes, Mondo?”

“A-are you…” you clear your throat. “Are you alright? Cause, I don’t know. Lately you just seemed kind of sad.”

There is that look again. The one where he is so obviously sad but he masks it with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never been happier.”

You release a deep sigh. “I wish I could tell you’re lying. You always know when _I’m_ lying. It’s not fair.”

“Why do you hate sadness so much?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “A little sadness doesn’t hurt every once in a while. It’s a good thing.”

“How is it a good thing to be sad?”

“It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man,” he recites, his eyes shine with amusement, like he knows he’s teasing you, but he’s still sincere. “The living should take this to heart.”

“Why do you like quoting that book so much? It’s so god damned depressing.” And you think it’s annoying how he always uses Bible verses to change the flow of any conversation.

He takes a few steps towards you until your toes are touching. “We all have a little darkness inside us, Mondo.”

“Some more than others, yeah…” you struggle to say as his breath fanning on your face causes you to lose your train of thought.

With his hands on his hips, he stands on his tiptoes to make up for the height difference between the two of you. His ruby red eyes are stern, earnestly boring into yours and demanding your utmost attention. To any man, he would have looked furious, but you are not any man and you know him well. You have in your mind an inventory of the smallest details about him. Every single quirk of his character and every fleeting emotion of his is imprinted in you like a distant memory from childhood. And as he stares up at you with a hopeful expression you know that when he does this, he isn’t actually mad. It’s his way of saying that he wants you to kiss him.

So you do.

 

-

 

You decide to sleep with him that night, and he does too. You will never forget the feeling of his bare skin pressed against yours and how beautiful he is illuminated only by a few slivers of moonlight. The way he writhes against you and the soft moans that come out of his lips add more to the things you love most about him. The feeling of being inside him, which stirred in you something so indescribably good that you could barely think about anything but the grinding of your hips as you establish a rhythm, and he rocks up to meet your thrusts, and the sound of your name as he releases… all of those will remain in your head and be impossible to get rid of, making yet another distinct memory that will be with you no matter what.

You hold him as his eyes drift shut and blissful sleep comes and takes him away. Your arms wrap around his torso as you sigh deeply and wait for his breathing to slow down, the faint thumping of his heart echoing in your own.

“You stupid, stupid kid,” you speak hoarsely, arms locking tight around him. Your lips brush against his soft hair. “When I met you on the bridge that night, you were going to jump, weren’t you?”

Kiyotaka doesn’t reply. Of course, that is probably because he never heard you in the first place.

 

 

-

 

The two of you are back at the bridge where you first met, but this time it’s four in the afternoon and everything is so drastically different with the rays of sunlight streaming down upon them. Kiyotaka stands beside you, much in the same position as your first conversation here. That had been so long ago. You sneak a glance towards him, watching as his eyes get lost in the waves of the rushing river below. His skin is lit up beautifully and his face takes on an expression so serene you almost do not proceed with what you say for fear of ruining it.

“I’m gonna marry you someday,” you tell him. He doesn’t look at you, but the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.

“Careful. If you do that, then I really won’t go away.”

“I don’t want you to.”

And you wonder why, when you said that, he manages to look even sadder.

 

-

 

He is crying again.

“I need to leave,” he says. “It’s just this place… It’s too haunted for me. Everywhere I turn I see traces of my grandfather and I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

Your heart stops and your blood turns cold. Panic creeps in and seizes you in a tightly locked grip. Kiyotaka is leaving you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t keep him and he’s leaving you and you have no idea how to be you anymore when he’s gone.

“I need a fresh start. A new life. To find out who I really am without the ghosts of my ancestors chasing after me.”

You gulp down the bundle of nerves building up in your throat. “Where will you go?”

“I sent in an application to a university in Europe,” he replies without missing a beat. “And I passed.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner! I just didn’t know how to do it when we’ve had such fun times together and I didn’t want to upset you at all. Please, I’m really sorry, Mondo.” 

“No, it’s fine! Go ahead. I don’t care.” You are lying, of course. 

“Mondo…” He steps closer to you and he stands on his tiptoes again. His arms come up to wrap around your neck and his fingers card through your hair. You will miss this, his touch and the feeling of him pressed up against you. You wish you had more time to soak it in before saying goodbye to it forever. His lips press against your ear and he pulls back a little to make a delicate whisper, a promise you’ll be holding on to for the next few years of your life: “I will be back.”

“What?”

He steps back, smiling. “I said I’ll be back, Mondo. You did tell me you were gonna marry me after all.”

You stare at him, stunned.

His eyes widen and his hands come up in front of him in defensive stance. “That is, unless you were joking, of course! Then uh, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“What? No… No, that wasn’t—that wasn’t a joke.”

“Oh.” A deep red blush creeps up his neck and to his cheeks.

“How much time do you have left? I wanna show you something.”

 

-

 

The two of you are standing outside the haunted house. The place is cold and desolate, barely a speck of life left in it, but it’s something you can withstand now.

“Mondo, what are we doing here?” He asks as he stares up at the strange house and he clings to your arm.

“I wanted to be a carpenter back when I was in high school. I really did.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You shrug. “A lot of things happened. Until now, I still can’t find an explanation as to how I got here, but here I am anyway.”

He nods in understanding. “What is this?”

“This used to be my house,” you tell him in one breath. “My mom had a flower shop on the ground floor. There used to be a row of azaleas over there—” you point a finger in the direction of a faded glass window, “—and there was a sign board up there. And over there was where I used to play around a lot. And the street we’re standing on right now? It’s where I learned how to ride a bike.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” he looks around at all the spots you pointed out and takes in a deep breath. “It’s stunning.”

“Good, because we’re gonna live here.”

His head whips toward you so fast it’s almost inhuman. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Well, obviously there’s a lot of work to be done, but I’m gonna fix it up and make it habitable at least. I’m not really a carpenter, but you should at least have faith in my skills.”

“I do.” You can hear the smile in his voice and it makes you smile too.

“This is what I’ll be doing until you get back. When you return, this house will be waiting for you. It’s a man’s promise.”

He starts to cry. His arms come to wrap around your chest and you bury your face in his soft hair. “Hey, don’t go all crybaby on me again. This is getting weird, man.”

“It’s always, _always_ your fault why I’m crying, Mondo.” His fingers dig into your back and your chest becomes damp with tears. “God, what will I do without you?”

 

-

 

“What time are you leaving?” You ask once he’s calmed down.

“Early morning tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“Don’t go running off with any French boys, alright?”

He lets out that cute giggle again. “I won’t.”

“You’re mine.”

He smiles. “I know.”

 

-

 

You see him everywhere.

You see him perched on the bridge where you first met. You see him on the floor of your dorm room and sometimes sprawled out on the sheets of your bed. You see him in the formerly haunted house, laughing and cheering you on as you keep working on it. And sometimes you can picture exactly what the look on his face will be when he sees everything you’ve done.

For him, the man who halted your song to a stop and made it better. 

You wait faithfully for his return.

 


End file.
